


Partners

by Kirsten



Series: Brothers [3]
Category: Supernatural, Third Watch
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Crossover, Crossover Pairing, M/M, Religious Themes & References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-02-02
Updated: 2007-02-02
Packaged: 2017-10-13 15:09:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/138692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kirsten/pseuds/Kirsten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean blew into the city couple times a year, shotgun loaded and ready to rock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Partners

Dean blew into the city couple times a year, shotgun loaded and ready to rock. It was always business took him there, if you could call a gig business when you weren't getting paid for it. Most times he worked alone, hit Bosco up for a warm bed and some good sex after it was done, but sometimes he brought Bosco in on the job, if it looked like being something dangerous and fun. Bosco liked life a little bloody, couldn't seem to rest without it, all hopped up on adrenaline and thrills. Dean was okay with that. Sex with Bosco was wild and wilder after a hunt, the kill itch thrumming through both of them.

Same as ever, the first thing Dean did in New York was stop by the Neptune, this joint Bosco showed him back when they first met. Dean bought coffee and whatever shit he felt like eating that wouldn't leave crumbs or stains all over his car, and then he headed down to the Five-Five at the corner of King and Arthur, pulled over opposite the station house and waited for Bosco to show up. Sometimes he caught Bosco before the third watch rolled, and other times it was in the middle of the shift, Bosco dragging some perp out of the squad and talking about _you have the right to remain silent_ and _please exercise it 'cause I don't wanna hear your voice no more._

The first time he caught Bosco before his shift started, Bosco drove up in an old blue Mustang. It made Dean laugh out loud because, sure, that Mustang wasn't the Impala, but it got Dean kind of hot anyway and gave him an idea, made him think it might be a good idea to drive over to Bosco's place, wait for him there instead. It was a long night in the New York heat, and Dean passed the time with Styx and Black Sabbath, thoughts of Bosco demanding and naked under his hands, and he drank water and maybe a little of the tequila he kept snug under the driver's seat.

It was after midnight when Bosco finally made it back to his building, wired and clueless, and Dean stepped out of the shadows and pushed him back against that bright blue Mustang, dropped to his knees and blew Bosco right there on the street. It was hot and rough, the sidewalk hard under his knees, Bosco's fingers tight in his hair, Bosco's voice saying, "Fuck," and, "Yes," and, "Wanna come all over your face."

Yeah. Dean had fond memories of that Mustang.

This time, it was near eleven thirty when Dean stopped by Bosco's precinct. Bosco was right on the front step talking to some fat old cop. Dean blasted the horn and cruised right up close, rolled down the window and said, "Need a ride, cowboy?"

"Fucker," Bosco said, and glared. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Business," Dean said. "You know the score, pal. It's juicy stuff. You want in, or are you just going to stand there looking stupid?"

" _Look_ stupid?" The fat old cop sort of coughed and laughed. "Nice of you to spare his feelings that way."

"Screw you, Sully. You're just jealous 'cause I'm so much better looking than you," said Bosco, and got into the passenger seat, left the fat old cop, Sully, standing there looking pretty stupid himself.

"I knew you couldn't resist this face," Dean said, and squeezed Bosco's thigh, right up high by Bosco's crotch.

"You're a real bastard, you know that?" Bosco turned toward Dean and into the street light, and Dean caught a flash of scar tissue, brutal and twisting all over one side of Bosco's face.

-

Dean listened to Metallica and Bosco's anti-Metallica bitching all the way back to Bosco's place, and he tried not to get hard at the thought of Bosco's pain. "Dude," Dean said, pretty politely considering how Bosco dissed the gods of rock, "shut your cakehole."

Bosco put his hand on Dean's dick and didn't move it, just let Dean feel the heat of his palm, the strength in his touch. "Just drive, pretty boy," was all Bosco said, and the car was quiet after that except for the roar of the engine and the sound of Dean breathing heavy. Dean pushed the speed limit, and he knew right then Bosco was ready for it by the way he didn't pitch a hissy fit about the law-breaking.

Dean pulled into Bosco's space, and Bosco let him go and got out of the car. He didn't bother to wait for Dean, but that was fine, that was cool, Dean knew where Bosco lived. It wasn't a problem. Dean got everything he needed from the trunk, weapons, laptop, notes, fake FBI badges. They wouldn't need them for this job, but still. Fake FBI badges always got Bosco hot.

He caught the building door right before it slammed in his face. "I don't know why I keep coming back to your scrawny ass," Dean said.

"Because nobody else loves you like I do, sweet pea," and that was Bosco all over. Dean followed Bosco down the corridor, mimed shooting a gun at the back of Bosco's head and grinned. It was a good fantasy, but it could stand some more work, needed a blowjob and an ass-fucking and an orgasm or two to make it worth the time of day.

Bosco's apartment was just as fucked up as Dean remembered it, weird combination of slob guy and military neat. The angles were all right and perpendicular, and there were old pizza boxes and empty beer tins and dirty clothes on the floor by the couch. "I feel dirty just looking at this place," Dean announced.

"So go take a shower," Bosco said, and waved an arm in the direction of the bathroom. "You hungry? My mom made lasagne."

His mom. Jesus. Dean rubbed the back of his neck and said, "Dude, your mom?"

Bosco slammed the refrigerator closed and popped the cap off a beer. "You got something to say about my mother?"

"That depends. She get you clean towels, too?"

Bosco took a pull on his beer, but Dean still saw the flush on his cheeks. "They're in the closet by the bed."

"You're such a momma's boy," Dean said. Bosco threw the bottle cap at him, and Dean took off to find the towels, cackling.

Dean remembered stumbling back to Bosco's place the fifth time he hit New York after they met, hunt gone wrong, covered in his own blood and werewolf guts and needing a place to crash. Remembered Bosco's eyes and the way they went wide when he opened the door, Dean leaning against the wall, half-dead and half-wishing it was more than that. Bosco pulled him in, dragged him to the bathroom and dumped him in the shower, clothes and all, and Dean just stood there and let him do it. Dean got hard from all the gentleness in Bosco's hands, and Bosco got hard from that, and they never mentioned it or even fucked because of it. Dean let Bosco patch him up, and the next day Dean was out of there before Bosco even woke up.

Time before that, they knifed a shapeshifter out in Queens and came back bruised up and edgy. It was knives that night, all night long, Dean doing Bosco doggie style with a blade at his throat, Bosco sucking Dean and letting him feel the sharp scrape at the base of his cock. Damned near took his balls off, too, and that just made it better. After they got done Bosco said to him, "We're so fucked up. We need to shower in holy water, wash away the sin of all this."

And Dean said, "Dude, would if I could." Then he grinned, because why the hell not? So Dean filled Bosco's tub with hot water and found a crucifix in his pack, held it over the water and said what needed to be said while Bosco stood there and cracked up.

"You're so far from being a priest it's not even funny," Bosco said, and put his hands on Dean's naked ass and squeezed.

Dean ignored him and finished up, dropped the cross in the water and then turned and pulled Bosco close, kissed him hard. "You ready to repent, wash away all your sins?"

"Is this like a Baptist thing?" Bosco scraped fingernails over Dean's nipples. "'Cause my mom's not gonna be happy if it is."

"Momma's boy," Dean mocked, and Bosco bitch-slapped him right across where ass met thigh.

Bosco looked good in the water, all shiny and wet, and Bosco seemed to like the way Dean looked, too, judging by the way his eyes got all black. Dean wondered if having sex right there in the tub would cancel out the holy, then shrugged and decided to find out. Because who cared if it did, right? That was why he carried a fucking shotgun. So they did it again in the holy water Dean made, Dean riding Bosco's thrusting hips until he gasped and shuddered and came. Dean figured it didn't cancel out the holy at all, what with the way that incubus on the highway out of town flinched away from him and screamed.

Those were happy times. Dean knew Bosco's bathroom about as well as he knew Bosco's Mustang.

The water was good and hot and Dean took his time, soaped up and rinsed off and then did it all again just for the sheer hell of it. He didn't bother shaving - Bosco could burn, and like it. And Dean had to admit: Bosco's mom provided a mean towel. It was good and soft and smelled like flowers, and Dean was glad Bosco wasn't there right now, because Dean had a moment, right there in Bosco's bathroom, with laundry Bosco's mom did.

Bosco was half-naked when Dean finally came out of the bathroom, stretched out on the couch and watching basketball. There were scars all over one side of his chest, huge and monstrous and kind of hot. Dean took a different kind of moment, and then said, "Making a big assumption there, aren't you, Skippy?"

Bosco shrugged, and the movement went right down through his body, made all those lean hard muscles shift. "Figured we'd get this shit out of the way and then hit the road. That work for you?"

"You know it," Dean said. "Get those things off," he added, and Bosco grinned and shucked out of his sweatpants. There was another scar on his thigh, just like the others. He lay back on the couch and folded his arms behind his head. Dean watched him and raised his eyebrows. "And?"

"You want it?" Bosco shifted again, lifted his hips a little and then relaxed. His cock was already half-hard. "Come and get it."

Dean snarled but did like Bosco suggested, because it wasn't going to happen any other way. He stretched out on top of Bosco, kissed his lips hard enough to make them swollen and a little bloody. Bosco grabbed Dean's ass and pulled him in close enough that they were grinding against each other, cock to cock, nothing fancy, just something to take the edge off. Then Dean slipped down, got his dick between Bosco's thighs and whispered, "Better make it good for me, bitch," right into Bosco's ear.

"You're an asshole," Bosco said, but his voice was rough and kind of cracked. Dean just grinned, let Bosco feel the curve of his lips against his cheek.

"Make it good for me and maybe I'll fuck you," Dean said. "You'd like that, baby, I know it. Later, when you're all hot and wet from the hunt."

"Like hell." Bosco rolled them over off the couch and onto the floor, and Dean let him do it, because that was part of Bosco's charm. Bosco thrust strong against Dean's pelvis, looked down at Dean and held onto his arms, firm grip around his wrists that _hurt_ , and that was it, that was all she wrote, Dean was fucking gone, shaking hard and coming harder, spilling jizz all over between both their bodies.

"You gotta be kidding me." Bosco groaned, pressed his face into the curve of Dean's neck and shoulder, and Dean was fucked out and relaxed, couldn't bring himself to feel pissed off about that.

"Need a hand?" Dean didn't give him a chance to answer, just reached down and took a hold of Bosco's dick, jerked him fast, just the way he knew Bosco liked, and screw Bosco for bitching, because Bosco didn't last much longer than Dean did. Bosco bit down on Dean's neck when he came, and Dean kept jerking him until he finished. Then he brought his hand up and put it to Bosco's mouth, murmured, "C'mon, Bos," and smiled when Bosco rolled his eyes and licked it clean.

Dean let Bosco get his breath, then cupped his head and kissed him. It wasn't a soft kiss but it wasn't hard, either, and the stubble on their faces didn't burn much at all. Dean didn't know what to think about that. He pulled away, but kept a hand on Bosco's good cheek, let his eyes enjoy the sight of that twisting, curling scar. Pity the best of it was hidden. "You'd look prettier without that fancy ribbon on your face."

Bosco seemed to stop breathing at that, and then there was rage in Bosco's eyes. Bosco's fist swung back and Dean got ready to duck and dodge. Then Bosco froze, got a sick look on his face and stood up, walked away from Dean and into the kitchen. Dean sat up and watched him wipe at his stomach with a rag, watched him pick up a pair of the dirty jeans and a sweater from the floor by the couch and put them on, then his work socks and boots, watched him pull out his off-duty gun and check the clip. Bosco's movements were quick and angry, and Dean would've felt sorry for the evil they were about to end, if he were the type of guy to care.

So the scars were a sore point. Okay. Dean could work with that, and he stood up and didn't bother to wipe the come from his skin. He pulled on his jeans. "You still up for working some?"

"Evil sons of bitches." Bosco glanced over at him, and his eyes were dark. "You know I'm in on that."


End file.
